Green on Blue (15 page)

As he remembered, Mortaza smacked his palm with the switch. He looked down at his high-tops and spoke: I went to the spingaris in my village
.
I asked them to stand against those that did this, but they refused. They insisted we would suffer more if we took sides. They were cowards, and I told them such. I left and came here, and Commander Sabir promised what the spingaris would not. Now very little grows at our farm. This last season, when my father should’ve readied for the planting, he instead sowed salt into the furrows, killing the land, denying it to the spingaris
or to any other who would lay claim to what’s his. He remains in the rubble of our old home. He sits among the broken walls with no roof to protect him, doing no work. He says there is no point. I send him my wage, and that is adequate for survival, but it does nothing for his dead spirit. As for my spirit, I cannot say with certainty who attacked my village. Gazan fighting under the Taliban? Others fighting under Hezb-e-Islami? The Haqqanis? Who knows these things? But what I know is that I’ve taken a side. I think that is enough.

I sat up and turned toward Mortaza as if to speak, but said nothing.
The story of my loss would do nothing to lessen his. Tawas, Qiam, Yar, even Commander Sabir, the burdens of our past led us here, and, alike as we were, we carried those burdens alone.

Through my silence, Mortaza spoke again: But now there is something I must ask you. Do you think we killed Haji Jan today?

What do you mean? I said, not wanting to talk like this.

All of our revenge, he said, our desire for badal at any cost, Commander Sabir’s desire to build the outpost . . . do you think all of it killed Haji Jan?

Haji Jan wouldn’t choose a side, I replied. This is what killed him, not us.

Yes, not us, he said. We’ve chosen.

He leaned back onto his bed, picked up the long thin switch, and smacked Puskie’s cage. The bird sang: chi-chi-charee,
chi-chi-charee
, CHI-CHI-CHAREE!

I rested against my pillow, stared at the ceiling’s wooden planks, and fought to let go of it all, until I managed to let go enough, and to sleep.

–

A few hours later I awoke into a hard silence. I was breathless from a dream I couldn’t remember and I didn’t feel as though I’d slept at all. Across from me, in the night’s mix of light and shadow, Mortaza lay spread on his back, asleep, his high-tops still tied loosely on his feet, the long thin switch still clenched in his hand. I sat up. The rows of beds were no longer empty but heaved, a soldier resting in each one. I needed to piss, and as I left the barracks, I envied the rows of peaceful sleepers, but envy mixed with doubt. There was no reason they should sleep more deeply and soundly than me.

A bright moon strained my tired eyes. It seemed as if I’d stepped into the clearest of days. As clouds floated wide and lazy overhead, shadows
moved between the rocks, mixing with the light. I watched the fronts of my boots as I crossed the firebase, struggling not to trip over the uneven ground. But my careful steps caused me to miss my greatest obstacle, Commander Sabir. He gave a sharp whistle. I looked up. Come here, you! he hissed.

He sat on the raised doorway of his tiny plywood shack, squinting into the dark. Light poured from inside and I saw him far better than he saw me. His knees were pulled to his chest. He didn’t wear his uniform top, but a white T-shirt, maybe two sizes too large, with a silver Nike Swoosh
and the familiar
Just Do It
,
printed in black.

Next to his left foot was a bottle of Jim Beam and next to his other foot was a paper cup with a plastic lid. His left arm drooped lazily at his side. In his palm he held the can of fish food. I walked carefully toward him, but my movements weren’t quite quick enough. Bacha bazi
,
come here! he yelled, pointing to me with an outstretched arm. He then looked at his palm, confused, forgetting that in it he clutched the fish food. The discovery of it caused him to laugh into his shoulder.

Commander Sabir tossed the fish food beside the whiskey and rose to his feet. I presented myself to him at attention, my arms pinned to my sides and my ankles tucked together. He did the same, and the two of us stood stiff as tin soldiers in front of his door. The night’s drinking had already reddened his cheeks to the color of beef. The rims of his eyes were red, too, and his nose was curled up in a snarl. Where are you going so late? he asked me.

I replied firmly, and in a rhythm, as though clapping the syllables of my words: Commander Sabir, I have to take a piss!

He looked at me. In his eyes was an empty heaviness, like that of a serpent about to strike his meal. His breaths came all from the mouth. A drunken sweat beaded on his forehead. Then, in a blur, his clenched fist flashed toward my face. But he didn’t strike. He stopped inches
from my nose, tilted his head, and shifted his stare from me to the fist between us. While he considered his fist, he slowly pressed the top of his thumb between his index finger and middle finger so that the tiny nub poked strangely from the knuckles. He wiggled it in the air. Then he tilted his head to the other side, looked past the nub of his thumb to me, and melted into laughter like a boy. Well, go piss then, you fool! he said, and the warm boozy sweetness of his breath blew against my face and a drip of saliva poured from his broken lip, rolling down his shirt front as if it were honey. I walked quickly toward the latrine, but Commander Sabir shouted after me, pointing to the side of his quarters: No! Just piss over there. When you’re finished, you’ll come drink with me.

He stepped inside to get another paper cup and I stood next to his hut, trying to piss. He called out the door: Who can say I don’t care for my soldiers when I share my whiskey with them?

I couldn’t do it. Commander Sabir’s voice and the noise as he searched for another cup made me anxious.

He stepped back outside and sat heavily on his front step. Aren’t you done yet? he asked, laughing. Come, put your little nub away, Aziz.

Just a moment, Commander, I replied.

He whistled a hollow and broken tune. I breathed deeply, rolled my shoulders, tried to relax, but nothing came. He stopped whistling and called out: I’ve fixed you a drink and may have to have it myself if you don’t hurry!

I gave up. My bladder still ached, but I buttoned my pants and went to get my drink. I stood in front of him, uncertain where to sit. He patted the doorstep and I settled in next to him as an equal might. Before we drank, he stood, walked inside, and turned out the light. He returned with Omar’s glass bowl. He set it on the step between us and the black goldfish circled its waters.

If it is dark, I prefer to have Omar’s company, Commander Sabir confessed.

He handed me a paper cup like his. The night was bright with many shadows in it. The shadows fell in Omar’s bowl, bending strangely. He seemed to avoid them, weaving through the waters, swimming low and near to the colored gravel. Watching him, I sipped my drink. It bit and then burned down my throat. I winced against the sweet warmth and stared into my cup. I’d never had alcohol before.

Whatsa matter? asked Commander Sabir. You don’t like it?

No, it’s good.

You don’t seem to enjoy it, he replied.

I gulped at the whiskey and said: I am tired, that’s all. Today was difficult.

Bah! he laughed, taking another sip of his drink. He rubbed the back of his neck with a callused palm, looking up, searching for the moon. Its light poured from behind a single cloud. He spoke, and when he did, he did to the moon as much as to me: Today was difficult, but what it really was, was unnecessary. That fool Haji Jan would still be alive if he’d taken my offer. Do you believe me when I tell you this?

Yes, Commander, I said quickly. Of course.

He searched my face as he had done the moon a moment before. He drank some more, saying: Worse than Haji Jan is this fool Atal. He claims to care for his village, but what does he know of such cares? I am responsible for the soldiers here. I care for your broken families. I give you food and a roof. And I give you the chance for badal.

The moon emerged from a cloud and in its light Commander Sabir fumbled at the ground by his feet, searching for Omar’s can of fish food.

What of our badal? I asked.

What of it? he replied, still groping at his feet.

We are sick of checkpoints, I said, feeling a new sensation, a warm
and slightly drunken courage. We want to strike at Gazan. That is why I came here. That is why we all came here, for badal
.

I thought he would grow angry at this, but he said nothing. He found the fish food and opened its lid. The air turned sharp with the smell. He shook the flakes onto the water’s surface. They came slowly from the can. Harder and harder he shook, speaking all the while: We do anything for badal
because to do nothing is shameful, and shame is feared more than anything. When I killed Hafez and took badal for my brother, I was very afraid.

His voice trailed off. He looked up from the water and held me in his stare.

What will you do after we kill Gazan? he asked.

I’ll go back to Orgun, care for my brother, and try to find work.

My words hovered in the air, weightless with all they presumed. Commander Sabir listened and unscrewed the cap from the fish food, blowing through its sieved holes, clearing it. Flakes rose into the air, floating down, dusting my hair and face. He screwed the cap back on. Omar bobbed on the water’s surface, his one slick eye winking at me as he waited for his meal.

There are many in the Special Lashkar who’ve taken badal, said Commander Sabir. Ask Issaq or Yar whether it undoes the pain that has been. Ask them why they’re still here, fighting. The war sustains us. It can be a life.

Commander Sabir shook more flakes from the can. They fell into the bowl, a few at a time. Omar ate them one by one. Impatient, Commander Sabir struck the heel of his palm against the can’s back. The lid knocked loose, dumping the entire contents into the water. Omar gulped at the food, eating in a frenzy. He would eat until his stomach burst. Bowli!
cursed Commander Sabir. He reached into the bowl to scoop out the food, but in his haste, he tipped it to the ground. Water spilled into
the dust at our feet. Omar flopped into the mud. Commander Sabir ran inside. I grasped after the fish, snatching him up. His body writhed as I cupped him in my hands. Against my fingertips, I could feel his lips now gulping for air instead of food. Commander Sabir returned with a bottle of water. He poured it into the bowl and I dumped Omar in. Then he stood, holding the bowl up to the moonlight, checking on his pet. Unbothered, Omar went back to eating, sucking the flecks of food buried in the floor of colored gravel.

Get some rest, said Commander Sabir, there is much to be done. You’ll get your chance at badal. Maybe you’ll take it, none of that matters unless you’ve made a life in this war.

He leaned back, emptied his cup of Jim Beam, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He tucked the fishbowl under his arm, stumbled into his room, and collapsed on his bed. I closed the door behind him.

My steps were uncertain as I stumbled to the latrine. The moon had carved itself to a sliver and I couldn’t tell if my footing faltered because of the darkness or because I’d drunk too much. When I arrived inside, I left the lights off. I straddled the porcelain hole in the ground for a long time before relief finally came. Then I walked back toward the barracks. Commander Sabir’s light had been turned back on. I thought of him, drunk
,
sitting under a single bulb, unable to sleep and, but for his goldfish, afraid of the dark.

I
awoke the next morning with a headache. Worse than that was the doubt I felt. It promised not to fade so quickly. I thought of all Commander Sabir had said. Even if we killed Gazan, I was trapped. Badal
was a clear action, but was it worth my life? It could not change what had happened to my brother, and when I took it, afterward, I would still know only war.

When Mortaza, Tawas, and I finished breakfast, Yar sat outside on a picnic table waiting. He waved us over and leaned forward as if in a conspiracy. I have news, he said. Last night after dinner Issaq told me that Commander Sabir knows where to find Gazan and that he has decided to launch a raid against him.

Yar leaned back and studied our blank stares.

Also, he continued, Commander Sabir has decided the Tomahawks will be the assault force for the mission and the Comanches will stay out on the cordon.

Yar cast his palms toward the sky as if he’d just performed a magic trick.

When? asked Mortaza.

Tonight, said Yar.

Tawas slapped Mortaza on the shoulder. Tonight! he said. God is great, truly, He is.

Our badal against Gazan comes tonight, repeated Yar.

Tawas grinned at me with a clean enthusiasm.

I nodded back.

Head to the motor pool, there’s work to do, Yar ordered. Details will come later. Commander Sabir wants to ensure that no one has time to warn Gazan. Who knows how many of his spies are among us.

–

For the rest of the morning, I turned a distracted wrench under our HiLux’s hood with Tawas. An old air filter had been causing exhaust to rattle through the engine as if it were a pair of tubercular lungs. We struggled to loosen the side bolts and replace the filter. Each time our wrench lost its grip, our knuckles flew into the hard edges of the engine block. Tawas cringed at the pain but smiled to himself.

Why are you so happy? I asked.

This mission, said Tawas, smacking on a piece of his bubblegum. It’s what we’ve waited for.

No part of you is worried?

Not for myself, he said, but I am for Qiam. With me in the assault force, it will be very hard for him to wait on the cordon. And you?

I pushed him aside and turned on the bolt he’d struggled with. Yes, I suppose I am, I muttered, my head under the hood.

You have nothing to worry about. You fought well in the ambush a few weeks ago.

It isn’t the raid that makes me nervous, I answered, and tugged hard on the bolt. It came loose. I reached into the space between the engine and the air filter and untwisted it by hand. I asked: What happens after the raid? Suppose we get Gazan tonight. What happens to us then?